


Before Nine-Thirty

by Eunoia2140



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Humor, Involves a Mario Kart Battle, Multi, Post-CA:TWS and T:TDW, a certain god loses something, morning with the Avengers plus five, people make pancakes, stressful jobs for a wary Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eunoia2140/pseuds/Eunoia2140
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things can get hectic in Stark Tower sometimes, especially when nobody can sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Nine-Thirty

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. The idea for it just popped into my head when I was watching The Avengers the other day, and I just threw something together. This was the result. I had lots of fun writing it and I'm glad it turned out the way it did.

Four a.m. That was the time when Thor woke up for no reason. Jane was lying beside him, still sleeping soundly. He did not know what woke him. He did not know why his insides felt twisted like the ropes around a boat. He just _woke up_.

Very slim slivers of sunlight were striking up through the heavily clouded sky and a light fog was drifting lazily above the numerous skyscrapers. Stark Tower hummed faintly with the pulse of repulsor electricity that constantly ran through it, keeping the lights on and helping the invisible butler that Tony Stark had running. J.A.R.V.I.S. was his name, if Thor recalled correctly.

He quietly got dressed; jeans, he found, were a lot easier to get on and off than his usual armor, and went across the hall to check on his daughter. The tinted glass door opened with a soft _whoosh,_ and Thor crept over to the small twin bed that sat in the middle of the room. The Man of Iron had been so kind to Jane and Thor when they had showed up with Bodil in tow to the Tower one afternoon. Bodil had been so excited to visit New York City and had run right past Lady Pepper when she had opened the door to her office. The lovely Miss Potts immediately made sure that Bodil had her own room right across from her parents, and the little girl had shrieked with approval and surprise when she saw the size of her sleeping quarters.

Thor peered down at the baby blue colored blanket that was thrown to the bottom of the bed in a heap with the pillow at the top of it folded over on itself.

The bed was empty.

“Bodil?” Thor called into the dark room. His reply was silence. He decided to look around the room, searching under the bed, in the closet, anywhere, really. Little blond Bodil could have been anywhere –she was known for mysteriously disappearing at all of the wrong times. “Bod?” Thor tried again.

His insides twisted tightly as the realization that his daughter was not in her room hit home. She must have gotten up in the middle of the night and curiously went to explore Stark Tower. That meant that she could have been anywhere in the tower, from one of the numerous bathrooms scattered about to the basement where Stark kept his iron armor.

That last thought made Thor flinch.

He had to find his daughter before Jane woke up or she would kill him. It amused him sometimes that he could feel fear at the hand of Jane who was a foot smaller than him. And he needed to find Bodil before she got into any trouble, too.

So with a determined stride, Thor left Bodil’s bedroom and started his search for the little girl.

 

*

Sleep was on of Clint's favorite activities to do. He could fairly be called sleep-deprived and an insomniac. Because of the missions that S.H.E.I.L.D so grandly bestowed upon him –or should he say _used to_ bestow upon him, for the agency was nonexistent now– he didn't get to close his eyes a lot. Hell, the most sleep he got while on the job was a half hour, if he was lucky.

So, of course, on the one day that he was able to sleep in, the alien decided to go into labor. It was eleven at night and Clint was walking out of the armory when he spotted Bruce wheeling someone into the lab next door in a wheelchair. Curious, he followed Bruce into the lab to find him clearing off a metal table that's top half was bent, propped up to resemble a reclining chair almost. Sitting in the wheelchair next to the table was the Asgardian warrior, Sif, her black hair hanging in front of her face and hands on her round stomach.

"What–?" was the only thing that Clint was able to say before he was yanked backwards by the shoulder, almost out of the lab entirely.

He spun around and swatted at the hand that was on his shoulder. His glare met Loki's with high intensity.

"Get out," the god hissed.

Clint scoffed and said, "What the hell? I was coming back from shooting a few targets when I saw Bruce wheeling your girlfriend in here in a wheelchair, and I just came in here to ask what was wrong because I'm a concerned citizen–"

"Leave," Loki interrupted. His eyes blazed with sudden anger that made Clint look towards Banner for some backup.

The Doctor was tapping away at a tablet, eyes darting across the charts on its screen. Clint could not decipher what the charts were for from this distance and curiously made a step in Bruce's direction.

Loki stepped in his way. "I told you to get out."

"Will somebody tell me what the hell's going on at least?" Clint whined, taking a small step back from the towering raven-head god.

"Sif's gone into labor," Bruce said in his quiet, calm voice.

Sif made a noise of discomfort but managed to give Clint a wolfish grin. "It's merely a great inconvenience, I'd say. Don't worry, Archer, I have faced far worse pain than this before."

As if on cue, she gasped and clutched at her stomach. Loki was immediately at her side, pressing his nose against her temple and whispering reassuring things in her ear. One of his hands covered the one she had placed on her stomach.

"Doctor," he said softly, ice-blue eyes suddenly locked on Clint again. "Please remove the Archer from the room before I break both of his arms."

Bruce gave Clint a stern look. "Please go, Clint. I'm gonna need a lot of room in here and crowds make it hard for me to concentrate."

Clint opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it when Bruce's gaze turned from stern to pleading and Loki shot him a look so venomous that it made his insides twist. He sighed. "Whatever. Shout if you need me." With that, he left the lab and soon found his way in his bedroom.

He was so exhausted from training that day -Tony had given him new arrows that were designed to slice straight through their target and sail back to their shooter- that he collapsed onto the bed and passed out, not even bothering to change his clothes.

A loud cry woke him a little while later. When he looked at the clock, he groaned. It read 1:23 a.m. For the next hour and a half, he tried to go back to sleep, but his attempts were fruitless due to the fact that there was a vent that connected his room to the lab and Sif's unpleasant sounding labor noises filtered up through it.

Clint rolled out of his bed and onto the floor, crawling over to the closet because he was too lazy to actually get up and walk there. His arm stretched as far as it could as he reached for a pair of jeans on one of the hangers. It was then that he stood to get the jeans on. He pawed thought a set of drawers until he found a dark purple t-shirt and traded his heavy black sweatshirt for it. By the time he finished fixing himself up, combing his hair, washing his face –Natasha accused him of being a girl because he took so long to get ready– it was 4 a.m.

"Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he called to his ceiling.

 _Yes, Agent Barton?_ came the male voice.

"Is there anyone else up right now?"

 _Bruce Banner, Sif, and Loki are in the lab_ ; _Thor is wandering around the fifth floor_ ; _and Agent Romanoff is on the elevator heading to the seventh floor._

"The kitchen, huh?" Clint said to himself as he turned the bedroom door knob and opened it. "It looks like I'm gonna go find a spider."

 

*

 

Tony Stark was not a morning person.  The sun was always too bright and the alarm clock that Pepper purposely set to force him to get up was always too loud. His head pounded sometimes from hangovers which made his body ache. His mind was always fuzzy because he couldn't sleep –didn't want to sleep. There were too many things to do, too many things to be tinkered with –discovered, really – and he knew that he was the only one who was going to get up off his ass and discover them.

So on no particularly interesting Saturday morning, he decided to get up and do what he did best: tinker with something. The sun wasn't even up yet as he made his way down from his room to the kitchen, blinking often and stumbling into walls because he was still half asleep. He actually _had_ gotten some sleep last night and it reminded him how much he loved sleeping.

 _Good morning, sir_ , came a voice from the ceiling.

“It’s too early for it to be good,” Tony mumbled to the talking home computer.

As he approached the kitchen, he spotted light pooling in the doorway. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” he said, “who’s in the kitchen?”

 _Steve Rogers, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

“The hell . . .?” Tony sighed as he walked into the kitchen. Sure enough, sitting at the marble counter with a gray Nike t-shirt and black running shorts on was none other than the famous Captain himself. He looked up at Tony when he walked into the room.

“Stark,” he said assertively. The way Steve spoke to Tony had gotten on his nerves the first few conversations that they had had together. It was always as if he was commanding Tony to do something and that had automatically gotten under his skin. After a while, it had grown on Tony and now he seemed to naturally ignore it.

“What the hell are you doing up this early?” Tony groaned as he staggered toward the fridge. He pulled on the six-foot high metal doors and searched for the orange juice. It wasn’t on the door and it wasn’t in the back of the fridge so where the hell was it?

“I might ask you the same thing,” Steve said. He drained his glass of water and placed it in the sink.

Tony gave up his search for the orange juice and shut the fridge. “Can’t sleep.” He shivered involuntarily when he felt some of the chilly air from the fridge float past him. “It happens sometimes. I either don’t sleep, I oversleep, or I sleep a little bit and then get up at dawn. That tends to be the way with insomniacs. How about you?”

Steve shrugged. “I used to get up this early back when I was in boot camp. I guess my body is just used to it.”

“Well this isn’t way back when, so what do you do now?” At Steve’s confused look, Tony rolled his eyes and said, “What do you do when you get up at–” he looked at the oven clock “–five fifteen in the morning?”

“I run sometimes. Or I browse the Internet –that’s interesting. But sometimes I just sit and think about things.”

Tony snorted. “That sounds boring.”

Steve made a face.

“I’ll tell you what, Uncle Sam,” Tony said, strolling over to Steve and slapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll show you a game that will give you a new reason to get up early in the morning.”

“I’m not so sure,” Steve said uneasily.

Tony grinned. “It’s called Mario Kart.”

 

*

 

Another muffled scream pierced through the air, making Loki flinch again. He had been pacing nervously in front of the darkened glass doors that led to the lab for _hours_ , the only sounds coming from the room where his wife was currently giving birth in.

He and Sif had been married off by accident –if you could call it that; Loki was not even sure he knew exactly what had happened– after an expedition to Alfheim, the home of the light elves. In their haste to leave the realm, Sif had idiotically led them into a chamber where an elf had spoken quickly to them in a strange tongue, waving his hands while showering them in an onslaught of questions. Loki –impatient and annoyed at Sif for dragging them to Alfheim for a useless mission to find an old ally in the first place– had nodded in agreement to whatever the elf was saying. After standing there for a few seconds while the elf touched each of their foreheads and murmured words in his indecipherable language, Loki grabbed Sif and they left the realm with a relieved sigh.

Upon arriving back in Asgard, Loki immediately went to the library in the palace and discovered the light elf had been in the middle of performing a ritual and the King and warrior's interruption had acted as a convenience for him, seeing as the ritual could only be completed if two beings were attached to each other in some way –physically or mentally– as a source of pure power. However, the ritual would only work if both of the participants had some form of affection towards each other.

Loki had gotten the book he found the information in thrown at his head when he told Sif about this.

‘It would have still worked if I was with Thor,’ Loki said defensively. ‘It had to be a sign of mutual affection, whether it be family related or . . .’ He trailed off, not daring to go down that path with Sif.

‘I don’t care about Thor; I care about the fact that _we are now connected_ in some way. What in the Nine Realms does that even _mean_? If you were not King of Asgard, I would cut out your tongue and then run my dagger through you until every inch of your skin was covered with holes,’ she fumed. ‘And you are sure there is no way to reverse it?’

Loki shook his head, and then glared at her. ‘There is no need to get so overworked about this. The ritual has obviously had no effect on us –’

‘Expect for the fact that _we are connected_ ,’ she grumbled.

‘–that we can tell of,” he continued through gritted teeth. ‘So we can just continue to live our lives the way they should be and not speak a word of this.’

‘People will notice.’

‘Then find your own way out of this,’ he snapped. He muttered as an afterthought, ‘We sound like we’re husband and wife. How do people in marriage survive?’

‘Marriage,’ Sif said suddenly.

‘Sorry?’

‘Marriage is the answer to our problem. Asgard needs a queen anyway, so it would act as a benefit to the realm.’

‘No. I am _not_ marrying my future executioner.’

Sif scoffed. ‘Are you serious?’ She shook her head, furious. ‘You always acted like a child even in serious situations.’ That was not entirely true. In fact, Loki was the one out of their little group of friends who acted the most mature.

‘Well, if you had not been so idiotic in your haste to leave, we would not _be_ in this situation now.’

‘If _you_ had not been so ignorant when the elf was performing his damned ritual, then we would not be in this situation anymore,’ Sif shot back.

They never finished their conversation and instead spent the rest of the next six months on dark terms, constantly giving each other icy glares and speaking to each other only when they had to, and even then they used frosty tones. They avoided each other as much as they possibly could, so it was a huge surprise when Loki decided to join Sif when she went to Midgard to see Thor.

Not word or look was exchanged between them, immediately catching the attention of Thor after he had greeted them cheerfully.

‘Is something the matter, brother? You seem to be extremely frosty today . . .’

Of course, when Loki reluctantly recalled their unfortunate adventure, Thor took the idea of their connection to heart. He suggested that they be married in Asgard, and Sif smirked at Loki.

‘Asgard needs a queen,’ Thor insisted.

So the wedding happened, the only attendants being Thor, Jane, a stoic Heimdal, and a handful of court officials who were there to make sure that the marriage was legitimate.

Sif looked stunning. Loki looked striking. They were a king and queen in all of their magnificence.

They were both miserable.

What was a year on Midgard were multiple years on Asgard and the king and queen had somehow grown fond each other over this time period. That was evident enough when Loki had arrived on Midgard again, deathly pale, eyes wild, and catatonic. After many long, quiet hours of Thor gently coaxing his brother to tell him what was wrong, Loki said that Sif was with child.

And of course, Thor had laughed and congratulated his brother.

‘ _What?_ ’ Loki demanded when Thor kept grinning.

‘You're having a child, Loki,’ Thor replied with a shrug. ‘Isn't that something to smile about?’

It is something to smile about, Loki decided now as he bounced on the balls of his feet, but he heard another yelp come from the lab and he quickly added, but not now.

"Loki."

He looked away from the dark-tinted glass walls of the lab to look at Thor who stood at the bottom of the stairs that marked the beginning of the hallway. The blonde god looked a bit bedraggled, as if he had just been in a rush.

"What are you doing down here at such an early hour?” Thor inquired, concerned.

“Sif has gone into labor,” Loki said softly, twisting his fingers together.

“Loki that’s wonderful.” Thor smiled warmly at his brother. “But what are you doing out here if she’s giving birth in there?”

Loki stared at his feet sullenly. “I was acting too protective over her, so the Doctor asked me to leave.”

Thor shook his head. “You always have been that way.” Loki narrowed his eyes at him, making Thor chuckle. “Have you seen Bodil anywhere around here?" He craned his neck to look at the rest of the hallway behind Loki but found it empty.

Loki shook his head, not even really paying any attention to Thor's question, and began picking at the palm of his left hand. It was a nervous habit that he had had since his childhood years and he was never able to rid himself of it.

Thor walked over to stand next to him and put his big hand on his brother's shoulder. "It will be alright," he said sympathetically. "I have seen the Doctor at his practice; he is very good at healing people. Sif is in good hands."

"I wouldn't call our last meeting a 'healing' session exactly," Loki muttered drily and grimaced.

"I felt the same way when Jane was having Bodil." That was very true. Thor had experienced his own fair share of fear and giddiness when his own wife had gone into labor. But all of the nerve-racking hours that led up to the time when he got to hold his newborn girl had been worth it, by far. He told Loki this.

"Thor, your daughter's birth was different than this. She was normal –she wasn't part–" Loki suddenly gripped Thor's hand on his shoulder when he heard Sif again.

"Your child’s birth will be no different than Bodil's. Didn't you say that Eir said so herself?"

"Yes but–"

"And Eir is the head healer of Asgard, so you should trust her judgement. I promise, It will be _no different._ " Thor vowed.

A loud yelp sounded from the lab, followed by the ear-splitting cries of a baby.

Loki looked at Thor, his face drained of all color, eyes wide. "Thor . . ."

After a few seconds, the glass doors suddenly slid open with a soft _whoosh_ and out stepped Doctor Banner, looking a little ruffled, but otherwise in high spirits. A smile spread across his face as he said, "Come see your son."

 

*

 

The kitchen was cold, the wooden floor glinting from the ceiling lights. Clint glanced down at his distorted reflection and chuckled. It was like he was a kid again; looking at the funhouse mirrors the circus he used to live with carried with them. His eyes were blurred and his chin seemed to be two times too small.

“Since when do you get up this early?”

Natasha sat on the counter, leaning against one of the cabinets, legs crossed and swinging. Her fiery red hair was ruffled and her black sweat pants were rolled at the ankle. She raised an eyebrow at Clint.

He shrugged and made his way to the fridge where he pulled out a half-full container of orange juice. “Since aliens give birth here, I guess.” He unscrewed the blue cap and chugged the juice until it was almost gone.

“Sif’s gone into labor?”

Clint wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mhm.”

Natasha tapped her knees thoughtfully. “I didn’t hear anything. Then again, I just got back two hours ago . . .”

“Right, you were out chasing down –um, um, what’s-his-name. Didn’t he take out, like, ten guys with one knife or something?”

“Glad you pay attention to the files Fury sends you,” she muttered. “And ‘what’s-his-name’ is Hector Grisinski. He blew up a whole street with just two microwaves and four grapes.” When Clint gaped at her, she laughed. “I swear to God. It killed five people, too. Guy was brilliant but unsteady.”

“Well _obviously_. How’d you take him out? Did you use pears or something? Run him through with a banana?”

“You’re crazy.”

“Little bit.”

Natasha hopped off the counter and walked over to where Clint was standing, snagging the opened bottle of juice out of his hand. She tipped the rest of it into her mouth.

“Hey!” he protested, snatching the empty bottle back. “Nat, that was mine,” he whined as he dropped the bottle into a hole in the counter which had a holographic sign above it that read: **Recycle because we can’t have nice things if you don’t.**

“It wasn’t labeled,” she pointed out.

“It was! I have to label everything I put in that damn refrigerator because it always winds up missing when I don’t.” He looked angrily at the holographic recycling sign. “And what the hell does Stark mean when he says ‘we can’t have nice things’ if we don’t recycle?”

Natasha shrugged. “Beats me. I stopped asking Stark what goes on in his brain a long time ago.”

“True. And, speaking of the devil, where is he? He’s usually up by now.”

“I thought I heard somebody shout something from the living room down the hall. We can go check it out later.” She bent down, opened a cabinet that was built into the island, and pulled out a griddle. After setting it down on the black marble, she said, “I _knew_ Tony had one of these. The best pancakes are made on good griddles like this one and not that electronic shit he likes to use when he cooks. Scratch that: I meant _if_ he cooks; I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him _touch_ a spatula before.”

Clint’s face lit up. “I haven’t eaten pancakes in _forever_. J.A.R.V.I.S., does Stark have any pancake mix lying around?”

_In the pantry to the left of the refrigerator, third shelf from the top._

“Ah, yes, here it is,” Clint hummed as he pulled two Bisquick boxes from the pantry. “What should we put in our flat cakes of pan, as Thor would call them? I was thinking bacon.”

She made a face. “How about we not.”

“But I’ve never had bacon in pancakes and it sounds _delicious_ ,” he whined. “Come on, have a little fun. Be adventurous for once.”

Natasha gave him a pointed look. “Chocolate chips are better.”

“Whatever, it’s your pick anyway since you killed a guy today.”

“I didn’t kill him,” she grumbled, pulling open the fridge to find eggs. “Fury sent people to retrieve him.”

 “Hail Hydra.” This earned Clint a smack on the back of the head. “Ouch.”

 

*

 

“ _How are you beating me at this?! You’re seventy plus years old and have never touched a Wii; how is this possible_?!”

Tony threw his Wii remote at the wall, sighing dramatically. The remote hit the plaster and bounced onto the ground with a _thud_. A projection of the pause screen for Mario Kart was displayed on the wall, flashing colorful lights on the couch.

Steve shrugged. “It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I mean, you’re really just tilting the remote to get your driver to turn while occasionally pressing buttons–”

Tony held up a hand. “Stop. I will _not_ have someone who was alive when Scrabble was invented be insulting my favorite game.”

“But I wasn’t insulting it–”

“Shush,” Tony snapped. He retrieved his remote off of the ground and sat back down on the couch. “Now, we play.”

They played Rainbow Road for the next three minutes. In the first two laps, Tony was winning, and every time he passed another player he would say, “See you in Hell, suckers.” But in the last lap, Steve, who was in twelfth place, drove through a bonus box and got a bullet which boosted him to ninth place. Soon after that, Tony was hit by another player and fell off the road. Steve evidently won.

“What the _hell_ , Princess Peach? I thought she was supposed to be super sweet and caring for Mario and all that bullshit. I didn’t expect her to _push me off of the bridge_. What a motherfu–”

“You still got in second, Tony,” Steve pointed out.

Tony groaned. “Second’s not good enough. It’s not the same.”

For the next few minutes, Tony wailed in agony about his placement until finally, Clint appeared in the doorway.

“What the hell is that noise?” he demanded.

Steve glanced at Tony who had his arm thrown over his eyes. “Him. He got second place in Mario Kart.”

“Excuse you, Scrabble man; I got second four times and fourth seven times. I won _once_ – _one time_ out of twelve races. Oh, it hurts, Clint, it physically hurts.”

Clint flinched. “Please don’t start making that weird sound again. It was hurting my eardrums. Uh, anyway, Natasha and I are making pancakes, so we wanted to tell you that they’re gonna be ready soon –if you wanted any, I mean.”

“Pancakes . . . pancakes . . .” Tony peered at Clint from under his arm. “Do they have chocolate chips in them?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’m game. Be there in a second.”

Clint left the doorway but called back to them as he was walking down the hall. “Oh and I’m telling everybody that an old guy beat you at Mario Kart.”

Steve snickered, and Tony glared at him.

“I will destroy you at Just Dance,” he declared.

“Just Dance . . .?” Steve swallowed hard.

Tony smirked. “Let’s save that for after breakfast.

 

*

               

If Loki thought being run through with a sword was the worst sensation he had ever experienced, then he would be wrong. As he slowly walked over to the table where Sif was lying propped up on with a bundle of white in her arms, he felt his insides twist uncomfortably and his lungs deflate. What if the baby was a Jotun? What if it hated him? What if–

As if reading Loki’s thoughts, Bruce gently said, “It’s a very healthy boy. But –um– it was a particularly long labor because the baby is part –what’s the name of the race, Sif?”

“Jotun,” she replied quietly. Her focus was more on the bundle in her arms rather than the conversation between the Doctor and her husband.

One look at Loki’s wide, fearful eyes made Bruce wave his hand in the air. “It’s perfectly fine. No birth defects, nothing unusual about it. No, wait.” He shook his head and looked at the ceiling as he sorted through his jumbled thoughts. “It was blue with runes on its skin, but the color and runes both faded after a few minutes.”

Loki let out a relieved breath. He approached Sif, gazing down at the little body she held in her arms. Sif looked up at him with a broad smile on her face.

“Hold him.”

His arms shook as he carefully took the bundle from Sif and shifted it so that it sat in the crook of his one elbow. He cradled the baby, observing its milky white skin and little fists. Its eyes opened suddenly, and it stared at Loki with big green irises flecked with tiny specks of brown. The baby tilted its head and threw a fist at its father who caught it and brought it to his lips. A smile lit up the child’s face, a coo escaping its lips.

“What shall we name him?” Loki asked.

Sif closed her eyes. “Ullr.”

“That's a funny name.” A little blond head appeared at Bruce’s elbow, making him jump.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Bodil, how long have you been in here?”

The little girl titled her head to one side and stood on her tiptoes, trying to look at the tablets and papers on one of the glass desks. “Since Sif started screaming.”

Bruce took note that Bodil never called Sif ‘Aunt’ or ‘Lady’ –always Sif. He did not know if Thor told his daughter to call her that or if Bodil just developed it on her own.

Bodil walked around the table and over to Loki. She peered up at the baby in his arms. Loki turned automatically, an immediate act of defense for his newborn. Bodil frowned.

“He won’t let me see him,” she stated.

“You’ll get to see him later, Bodil,” said Bruce gently. “Just give your Uncle some time with his new son, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled and came back over to Bruce. “And his name is Loki,” she added in a harsh whisper.

Curiously enough, Bodil had developed an almost ‘rebel’ quality, as Tony called. With all of the time she spent with her parents, she made sure to make it up by spending an equal amount with Loki when she saw him. Of course, Loki was quite reluctant at first, but the little girl had grown on him. After some time, Thor and Jane began to notice the vague hint of sarcasm coloring their daughter’s suddenly widened vocabulary. Loki threw his hands up in defense when Jane accused him of influencing her daughter, but he smirked when she’d turned around. Thor deserved to have a little bit of Loki’s personality living with him for most of the rest of his life.

Banner shook his head a little at Bodil and then said to Sif, “Am I allowed to ask why such an unusual name?”

“It means ‘glory,’” she murmured. “Our son is sure to bring glory upon himself and the realm he protects.”

“She already has such high standards for you, little Ullr,” Loki whispered to the baby as he brushed his lips against its forehead. He looked at Sif who seemed to be exhausted.

She opened her eyes to give Loki a hard look. “Do not give me that look. I could kill you right now if I wanted to.”

“Of course you could,” Loki chuckled, giving Ullr back to her. “But you need to rest now. You look weary.”

“May I see Ullr yet?” Bodil was getting impatient. She was still a child after all.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Bruce agreed, picking up a tablet and tapping on the screen. He put his arm around Bodil’s shoulders. “Sweetie, you can see him when Sif is done resting, okay? They both need some sleep. I promise you’ll get to hold him later.”

Bodil _humphed_ in reply and crossed her slightly chubby arms.

_Doctor Banner._

“Yes, J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

_Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff have requested that you, Loki, and Sif come upstairs for breakfast._

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but Sif beat him to it.

“Tell them that we will be up soon.”

Bodil practically jumped up and down with giddiness. “Does that mean I’ll get to hold Ullr soon?”

“Umm . . .” Bruce glanced at Loki and they exchanged uneasy looks which they threw at Sif. “I don’t think it’s a smart idea to go upstairs and eat, Sif,” he said. “You just gave birth; you really should be resting now . . .”

“The Doctor is right, SIf. You need to sleep–” Loki stopped when he saw the look she was giving him.

“Loki Laufeyson,” she said darkly, “I have walked ten miles with a broken leg, killed a whole army of fire demons with a dagger embedded in my side, giving birth to a child who was half-Asgardian half-Jotun –do you need me to keep going?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You’ve made your point."

“Good.” She looked at Bruce. “Give us some time with Ullr and then we can go.”   

 

*

 

Thor found Jane as he was heading to the kitchen. She was still in her checkered pajama bottoms and dark blue t-shirt. When she saw Thor, she smiled and hugged him.

“I woke up and I didn’t know where you went,” she murmured into his thermal shirt.

He smoothed her hair down. “I just went looking for something.”

Jane looked up at him. “Went looking for what?” When Thor gave her a worried look, she said more firmly, “What did you lose?”

“Our daughter . . .” He looked at the ground with big, guilty eyes. He felt so ashamed, so stupid for letting Bodil out of his sight. He should have checked on her earlier, he should have locked her door, he should have–

Jane, much to his surprise, laughed. “You _lost_ our daughter?” She smiled broadly. “Only you, Thor."

“Are you not mad?” Thor creased his eyebrows in confusion.

“Of course I’m not mad. Tony has J.A.R.V.I.S. keeping an eye on her, so he’ll tell us if she gets into any trouble. And, well it’s not technically an actual eye, it’s more like one of the hundreds of cameras Tony has kept around the house –but, uh– you know what I mean.”

Thor chuckled. “I’m happy you’re not upset. I’ve been searching for Bod since four this morning.”

“ _Four_? You’re a teddy bear, you know that?”

Thor wrapped his arm around her waist and they started to the kitchen’s wide entrance. Voices and the clanging of plates and pans emanated from the room along with the phrase ‘fish are friends, not food’ which Thor made a mental note to ask Jane about later.

“And I cannot believe you’ve started calling Bodil ‘Bod,’” said Jane, shaking her head. “It was one thing for me to agree to name her that, and then it was another thing when Darcy came up with that nickname but now you’re using it too . . .”

He chuckled again. “Bodil means ‘leader’. Don’t you want our daughter to find strength in her name?”

“I suppose . . .”

“And the Lady Darcy came up with a fine nickname,” he continued. And then, when he smelled the sweet scent wafting from the kitchen: “What are they making?”

Jane sniffed. “Pancakes. Good thing, too. I’m starving.”

               

*

               

Clint placed the last plate of pancakes down in the middle of the tabletop. He was so proud of the way they looked and couldn’t wait to taste them.

“What’s up with Mr. Happy Face over here?” Tony picked up the gallon of orange juice and filled his cup halfway.

Clint frowned and didn’t answer. He grabbed a fork off of his plate and stabbed the pancake at the top of the pile. After observing its brown and chocolate-chip spotted top, he took a bite. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Natasha took one and ripped a piece off of it. “I don’t know . . . I haven’t made pancakes in three years . . .”

“ _Three years_? That’s bull,” Tony said as he drenched his two neatly cut pancakes in syrup.

She put the ripped piece of food in her mouth, chewed, and said, “No it’s not. The last time I made breakfast was when I was on a mission in London, and I stayed in this little place above a café and it was actually really nice –but anyway, I wound up making food for myself and I made waffles so I don’t even think that experience counts.”

“You did a really good job,” Jane offered. She handed Bodil the can of whipped cream and added, “I can only make eggs and toast and boring stuff and I have a lot of time on my hands sometimes. You guys on the other hand have no time on your hands and have made the _best_ pancakes I have ever eaten.”

“Yep,” Bodil agreed, squirting the whipped cream from the can. It came out fast onto her plate and made a fluffy white mountain on top of her pancake. She grinned and licked some of the stray sweet cream from her fingers.

There was an _mmph_ sound as if someone was choking before Tony –who was coughing a little– blurted, “Oh yeah, Bod, didn’t you promise to tell your parents where you went off too this morning?”

The four-year-old pouted and curled her hands into little fists. “Thanks, Tony,” she muttered.

Jane and Thor both looked inquiringly at their daughter.

She sighed and said, “I snuck downstairs to see my cousin get born.”

“It’s ‘being,’” Tony pointed out. He loved criticizing the little girl on her occasionally poor vocabulary. Pepper told him it was rude and that she refused to even think about having kids with him. He would always reply with an ‘uh-huh’ and shrug.

Bodil shot him an angry little girl look. “ _Being born_. And Bruce let me stay.”

Bruce looked down at his plate. “She wasn’t causing any trouble. And I didn’t even see her until after the baby was born, so it didn’t really matter.”

Jane looked at Thor who shrugged. “She was a child exploring,” was all he said before polishing off his third pancake.

Jane sighed and sipped her mug of coffee. “I suppose . . .”

“Moving on.” Tony hopped off of his spot on the counter to lean over the table to look at Sif who was cradling her newborn in her arms. “So, uh, what is it?”

“ _His_ name is Ullr,” she answered. Her fingertips brushed over the baby’s face, and his big green eyes followed them, his little hand reaching out to grab her forefinger. She smiled, so overtaken by the fact that she was holding her and _Loki’s_ child, a beautiful boy that held so much potential, so much power. He looked almost exactly like his father, a small smirk already pulling at his tiny lips when he caught her moving finger in his hand, looking as triumphant as if he had just caught a dragon.

Loki was standing right beside Sif, tracing nonsense patterns on her forearm and Ullr’s forehead. He would sometimes lean over and whisper something in her ear which would make her smile or laugh.

Tony, after staring at them do this for two minutes straight, said, “Okay, love birds, what the hell is he whispering to you because it’s honestly starting to creep me out.”

“Talk dirty to me,” Clint sang quietly from his place right under Tony’s elbow.

Tony nodded a bit, glancing down at him. “Cue the saxophone solo.” He noticed that Steve was absolutely silent and grinned maliciously. “Did we hurt your virgin ears?”

Steve made an irritated sound and started to chat quietly to Bodil about the now almost empty whipped cream can.

Loki pressed his forehead to Sif’s temple and whispered something again, making her scoff.

“It’s true, though.” He gave her a pointed look.

“I’m kicking both of you out if you don’t tell me what you’re saying because I know it’s about me and it’s bothering me.” Like a child who just had their toy taken away, Tony stomped his way over to the head of the table where the two gods were sitting. “Be nice,” he chided.

Sif rolled her eyes at him. “Loki placed a bet with me that you would not –could not– hold Ullr.”

Loki huffed, annoyed that their game of whispers was stopped.

“I _knew_ you were talking about me!” Tony exclaimed.  “And I can too hold a baby, I’ve done it before.”

“You have not.” It was Natasha’s turn to argue with him.

“Oh yes I have,” he insisted. “And I can hold this one, too.”

“You are a _child_ ,” Loki grumbled.

“Hey, my birthday is next week, so don’t go there. I’m also expecting a present.”

“Shit, I don’t want to buy a gift.” Clint threw his fork down on his plate. “I’m out.”

“Shut up,” Natasha laughed.

“No, no, I expect gifts from _all_ of you,” Tony said dismissively. “Anyway, I want to prove to Grumpy over here that I can hold a baby.”

Loki pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m afraid to give my son to you. May he suddenly be blessed with the ability to set things aflame and set you _ablaze_.”

“It’s only gonna be for, like, a minute. And he hasn't cast any magic spells or whatever yet, so I assume it's safe to hold him." This earned him a glare from Loki that told him to _back off_ , only making Tony's grin widen.

Sif laughed and gently laid Ullr down in Tony's arms. Tony, who was not one to touch children let alone hold a newborn, stared down at the sleepy baby with a curious look. He had never held a newborn before and it felt funny to feel the little alien's -he made a mental note that that was to be the baby's nickname- chest move ever so slightly as he breathed. The boy swung his hands in the air, curling them into tiny fists, and Tony gently caught one between his forefinger and thumb. The baby suddenly opened his glass-green eyes wider to glare at Tony.

"Um –is it possible for babies to glare at people or is it just aliens or something?" he said. The look that Ullr was giving him made him awkwardly uneasy. With a little cry of determination, Ullr pulled his fist free from Tony and gave him an innocent smile.

"He takes after his father," Sif murmured as Tony handed her son back to her. Ullr's smile widened and he shook his fists in the air, tilting his head to look at Loki.

"Okay, now the baby's starting to creep me out," Clint said, eating another bite of pancake. He groaned and said, "Damn, Natasha, we are absolutely _amazing_ cooks."

"When you retire from your spy occupation then you can open an IHOP," Tony said, reaching for the cinnamon container in the middle of the table.

Natasha rolled her eyes, ripped off a piece of pancake, and nibbled on it. "It can be our night job."

Clint grinned. "What about the aliens over there? Are you sure our cooking is up to your standards?"

Thor and Bodil nodded at the same time with the same goofy smile on both their faces, making Jane laugh. In reply, Sif stabbed a piece of her pancakes and thoughtfully said, "This chocolate spread is very good."

"I _told_ you she'd love the Nutella," Clint exclaimed triumphantly.

Natasha shrugged. "Nutella's shit. It doesn't even taste like chocolate. Steve agrees with me."

Steve –who had been finishing off his glass of orange juice– swallowed hard. "It tastes like . . . hazelnuts."

"Well it does say that's one of the main ingredients on the label," Tony pointed out. "I'm right, right J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

_Correct, sir. Some of the main ingredients are milk, coco powder, and hazelnuts._

Bodil struggled to reach another pancake, and Tony took the courtesy of throwing one at her. Steve and Jane gave him disapproving looks, but Bodil just giggled and began to devour the pancake.

"How about you, Lucifer?" Clint pointed his fork at Loki who had shifted Ullr to his left arm while he used his right hand to take a bite of the food.

He settled the baby back into both of his arms, swallowed, and said, "They aren't awful. . ."

"Can you even _taste_ the pancake? You put, like, a gallon of syrup and honey on it," Tony said as he picked up the empty plastic honey and syrup bottles and gingerly threw them into the trash can, making sure not to get any of the sticky stuff on his fingers.

"Loki has always loved sweet syrups ever since he was a child," Thor offered. "He used to smother the cakes we'd steal from the kitchen in them and always insisted that the pastries we sometimes ate be filled and covered with sugar or honey."

Loki spared Thor a glare before focusing his attention back on Ullr.

"Baby daddy over there isn't as heartless as we thought he was," Tony stated as he dug around in the fridge to find the gallon of milk all of the way in the back. He grabbed its cold, plastic handle and dragged it off of its shelf, dropping it down on the counter.

“I have nothing to say to you, Stark,” Loki said flatly.

“It’s better than him making out with his warrior-alien-girlfriend,” Clint pointed out.

"Wife," Loki muttered.

Steve closed his eyes for a few seconds and tried to blink the images out of his vision.

Clint grinned. “Steve knows it, too.”

“It was awkward,” Steve admitted.

“Awkward?” Tony repeated. “It was goddamn _disturbing._ ” Jane glanced at Tony with a questioning look. “Poor Steve over here was walking through the tower one day and–”

“Hold on: do you really think we should be telling this story in front of Bodil . . .?” Jane looked at her daughter who was intently listening to their conversation while munching away on her pancake.

“I’ll keep it PG-13,” Tony replied. Jane pursed her lips. He continued. “Anyway, Steve was –wait what where you doing again?”

Steve placed his fork on his plate and said, “I was trying to find the lab, but I got lost.”

“Right, right. So he was lost and he went to take the elevator and that’s when I ran into him. But by the time I told him he was going in the wrong direction, the doors opened and–” A malicious smile crossed Tony’s mouth. “How would you describe what we saw, Krazy Kat? You’re always good at softening the blow for children.”

If looks could kill, Tony would be dead. “We –um– saw those two kissing.”

Tony snorted. “ _Kissing_. Psh. Not the word I’d use for it.”

Steve stared at the ceiling and said exasperatedly, “We saw them wrapped around each other like vines, pressed up against the wall. They were all _over_ each other, with their hands and their mouths–”

By this point in the story, Clint was laughing so hard that he had to cover his face, Natasha looked pained with trying to suppress her own laughter, Thor was grinning like crazy, Jane was smiling and shaking her head, and Tony was choking on his milk.

Steve smiled, remembering the very awkward and ridiculous scene. “And they didn’t even notice us. We stood there for a minute and _that’s_ when it got really weird because then they started to–”

“No more,” Clint gasped as he tried to control his breathing. “God, _please_ no more. I can’t take it. You’ve already scarred me for life.”

“Oh but I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

“Can we _not_ discuss this?” Loki’s tone was cold, his was face stoic, and his eyes were icy.

“Did we hit a nerve?” Tony mocked.

Sif, feeling her husband tense beside her, said, “What was that one incident compared to all of the other compromising situations I found you and Lady Pepper in?”

Tony sipped his milk. “Yeah, yeah, it’s my tower anyway.” Sif smirked and Tony grumbled “whatever” into his glass.

“I saw,” Clint began, standing from the table to put his dish in the ridiculously big sink, “that Steve beat Tony at Mario Kart.”

“No way in hell,” Natasha objected. The pancake she had been munching on was ripped apart now, its melted chocolate chips standing out on the fluffy white inside like stars in the night sky. She rolled up one of the half’s and took a bite of it.

“No, Clint’s telling the truth. I beat Stark at the Wii game.” Steve grinned triumphantly.

Natasha pursed her lips. “But even _I_ can’t beat him at Mario Kart, and I’ve played that thing for days on end.”

Steve shrugged and wiped his hands on a napkin. Quite honestly he didn’t know how he beat Tony at the video game or why everyone was making such a big deal out of his victory, but he tried to play along.

He felt a pair of suspicious eyes on him and looked up at Tony.

“That was _my_ game, Steve Rogers,” he said darkly. “And I will not have my undefeated title be taken away by a man who was _alive when they invented Scrabble_.”

Steve put his hand on his forehead. “Why does that fact fascinate you so much?”

“Because you’ve ruined my favorite childhood game. And also now when Bruce and I play, I always wind up spelling ‘America’ or ‘shield’ or something.”

“Whatever you say, Stark.”

Bruce got up from his chair and shuffled over to the sink next to Clint before turning around and crossing his arms over his chest. “That breakfast was really good, but I think Sif and Ullr need some sleep.”

It was true. Sif had slumped down in her wheelchair, leaving her food only half-eaten. Ullr was already fast asleep in Loki’s arms.

She sighed. “The Doctor is right. Natasha, Clint–” Clint had told her to call them by their first names “–you’re cooking is very good. Maybe you should make food more often . . .”

“Another ten points to Gryffindor.” Clint banged his hand on the counter. “We got aliens to like our cooking, Nat; I think we should take a picture.”

“How about we not,” she repeated her sentence from earlier that morning.

Clint pouted as he started to put the things on the table away with help from Jane, Thor, and Steve. Natasha, Tony, and Bodil, however, sat still, munching on the last bit of their food.

Loki bent down to give Ullr back to Sif. He kissed the top of her head and said, almost reluctantly, “The food was . . . appetizing. Don’t think that’s an approval from me to make more.” And then he turned to Banner. “How long must she rest?”

“Uhm, a while . . .” Bruce was not an expert on pregnancies or helping deliver a baby. In fact, it had been his first time helping to deliver a baby, and he thought he did a pretty good job. He was just estimating now –Tony would be proud if he knew.

“Very well.”

In a swirl of green smoke, Loki, Sif, and Ullr were gone, having been whisked by Loki’s magic to some other part of Stark Tower. The wheelchair still sat there, looking empty and sad.

Tony coughed. “I hate it when he does that. It always makes the room smell like metal.”

“But you fight in a metal suit . . .” Steve trailed off and shook his head. “Whatever. I’m going to the Empire State Building for the rest of the day if anyone needs me.”

“You’ve lived in New York for four years plus all those years you grew up here and _still_ haven’t seen the Empire State Building?” Tony rolled his eyes. “There’s a lot of stuff I don’t know about you.”

Steve gave him a sarcastic wave and left the kitchen.

“I’d better get back down to the lab to check out some of the tests I got on Sif.” Bruce’s face lit up. “It was amazing, really, to observe an alien during such an intense time period . . . Anyway, I better go. Tony you should come down later and take a look.”

Stark made a ‘meh’ noise and Bruce shrugged and left.

Bodil hopped off of her seat to take her mother’s hand. “Come on, you promised you’d take me to see the park today.”

Thor chuckled. “I’ll take her, Jane. You stay here and finish working.”

Jane smiled. Tony gave her a questioning look and she said, “I promised to take Bodil to Central Park, but I have a project I’m working on . . .”

Thor wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed before following their energetic daughter from the room. Jane left after she put away the butter dish.

“And then there were three,” Clint daydreamed, looking at out the wide window that was on the wall on the other side of the oven. The sun was high in the sky, shining rays of light into the kitchen.

“I like it better this way,” Tony mused. “There’s a lot less noise without the little kid and the three godly amigos.”

Natasha ran a hand through her fiery hair. “Yeah, this morning was crazy. Wait a second: Clint, what time is it?”

Barton glanced at the clock. “Nine-thirty,” he replied.

“Jesus, all of that before nine-thirty?”

“I’ve had worse things happen before nine-thirty before,” Tony stated, ready to begin a monologue about something or other.

Clint threw up his hands. “Stop right there, Stark, I don’t want to hear another one of your ungodly long stories, and I _know_ you make them longer just to bother me–”

Tony quickly interrupted. “So it was back in 2010 –or 2011, I’m not positive– and it was really, really hot outside and J.A.R.V.I.S. wakes me up at, like, seven-thirty telling me that the air conditioning vent is blown out . . .”


End file.
